The Agate: Spring 2015 - Jefferson County Historical Society and

—
SPRING 2015 —
CONTENTS
MADRAS USO • 2nd LT. ROBERT CRANSTON
HOMESTEAD ORCHARDS OF JEFFERSON COUNTY
HISTORICAL BOOKS ABOUT JEFFERSON COUNTY
CHARLES HEANEY PAINTING OF MADRAS
President’s Message • Donations - Memorial Gifts • Membership
N.S. 3
T
Welcome to
the New Agate!
his is the third issue of our “new-look” AGATE, and it represents for
us something of an experiment. In cooperation with Tony Ahern, pub-
lisher of the Madras Pioneer, copies of this issue are going out with
this week’s Pioneer, and you will notice that some pages include advertisements from supportive local businesses. Our aim with the first innovation is
to expose THE AGATE and through it the Jefferson County Historical Society
to more people in our area; the reason for the ads is to help defray the cost of
the extra printing of the issue.
But it is an experiment; Historical Society members who are not Pioneer
subscribers will receive their copies as usual by mail. And after the issue has
circulated, we will “take soundings” on what readers think about it, especially
our JCHS membership. In any event, we do not expect to make circulation of
THE AGATE through the Pioneer a regular thing. Let us know what you think!
The contents of this issue span a considerable amount of Jefferson County
history, from two features on Madras during World War Two-- one on the
Madras USO center and one on the last days and letters of a young pilot-
trainee at the base-- to a survey of homestead orchards around the county,
still bearing fruit, that date back to the beginning of the 20th century. Plus notice of a peculiar painting of Madras, painted in the 1950s by a distinguished
artist; also reports on current doings of the JCHS, including a message from
our new president, Lottie Holcomb. We hope you enjoy this issue, as much as
we have enjoyed putting it together!
For future issues of THE AGATE—published in March and September—if
you have suggestions about topics you’d like us to feature, please let us know.
And if you have been thinking about writing something “historical” yourself,
let’s talk it over. Feel free to contact Jane Ahern at 541-475-3610 or by e-mail
at [email protected] or Jarold Ramsey at 541-475-5390 or
[email protected].
Cover photo: The Madras Community Hall, used 1943-4 as a USO center.
2
Jefferson County Historical
Society Officers, Directors
President: Lottie Holcomb • 541-475-7488
V. President: Betty Fretheim • 541-475-0583
Secretary: Wanda Buslach • 541-475-6210
Treasurer: Elaine Henderson • 541-475-2306
Charlene McKelvy Lochrie • 541-475-2049
Evaline Patt • 541-553-5605
Jerry Ramsey • 541-475-5390
Jim Carroll • 541-475-6709
Dr. Tom Manning • 541-475-6241
Steve Rankin • 541-475-6716
Becky Roberts • 541-475-4525
Jennie Smith • 541-475-1159
David Campbell • 541-475-7327
Dan Chamness • 541-475-7486
Jefferson County Historical
Society Advisory Council
Don Reeder
Joyce Edgmon
Bob Rufener
Darryl Smith
Carol Leone
Pete McCabe
Lola Hagman
Tony Ahern
Doug Macy
Garry Boyd
The mission of the Society is to research,
gather and preserve the history of
Jefferson County and Central Oregon for
public education through the display of
artifacts and archives.
Editor: Jane Ahern
Designer: Tom Culbertson
Publisher: Jerry Ramsey
• THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY •
L
The USO in Madras
ooking through the Madras Pioneer issues from 1941-1945, one is struck by
how profoundly World War II affected
the lives of each and every American. The
war was thousands of miles away and yet it
was right here, even in the small towns of
Central Oregon.
While some 323 local “boys” went off to
fight the war, their families who remained
behind in Jefferson County joined the rest of
the nation in embracing all the various war
efforts that now seem iconic. They rationed
tires, sugar, shoes, farm equipment, and
more. They bought war bonds, collected
scrap metal, saved their used cooking oil,
raised endless quotas of money for different
causes, and grew victory gardens.
So when the U.S. Army established a
pilot training base at the Madras airport in
1943, the county’s leading citizens naturally
moved to set up a USO center to support the
men stationed nearby.
For those who need a refresher, USO
stands for United Services Organizations.
The name refers to the six national organizations that joined forces in February, 1941:
the National Catholic Community Service,
the Salvation Army, the National Jewish
Welfare Board, the Travelers Aid Society, the
YWCA, and the YMCA.
The purpose of the USO was to help
maintain the morale of US servicemen at
home and abroad by providing recreational
opportunities and, sometimes, a home away
from home where the troops—many of them
still teenagers—could be catered to both by
motherly figures and by wholesome young
ladies.
According to Meghan K. Winchell in her
by Jane Ahern
book Good Girls, Good Food, Good Fun: The
Story of USO Hostesses During World War
II (University of North Carolina Press,
Chapel Hill, 2008), a less-publicized purpose
for the USO was to expose the men to the
civilizing influence of women. Put less delicately, venereal disease was a real problem
for the military as penicillin was not in widespread use until 1944.
The hope was that the men would spend
their time with the lovely yet chaste junior
hostesses, chaperoned by mature women
who would remind them of their mothers,
rather than with prostitutes or “loose
women” who might give them a disease. Some also hoped to steer the
men away from alcohol.
On the national level, the USO
set high standards for its hostesses.
The preferred way of recruiting senior hostesses was via church groups
or women’s organizations. Women
who were not volunteering as
members of such an organization
were theoretically required to provide two references, although the
practice varied by location.
Junior hostesses were expected to be attractive enough draw
the men to the USO, and yet respectable enough to maintain an
utterly wholesome atmosphere
in the clubs. In larger cities the
young women were recruited
from church groups, sororities,
member organizations such as
A page from “If you are a
Junior Hostess”
3
the YWCA, and even from department store
personnel. The national organization wanted
young women to fill out applications, provide
references, and submit to personal interviews. It was meant to be a selective process
in which not all young women were accepted.
Winchell says that many local USO clubs
gave “charm” lessons to junior hostesses.
“The national USO distributed its rules for
junior hostesses along with charm information to all USO clubs,” she writes.
A training manual, written by Nell Giles
based on the experiences of USO junior hostesses at the Boston YWCA and entitled “If
You are a Junior Hostess,” is full of
unintentionally amusing gems, such as
“How well a man
fights depends a
little on how well
you’ve done your part
in the U.S.O. and how
nearly ideal an American
girl you are.”
Wondering how to approach a GI? Giles suggests, “Edge up on
him. No beginning is necessary. Just mysteriously be where he is and SMILE.”
The efforts of the national USO to enforce rules and standards for senior and junior hostesses were admirable, but they probably did not trickle down to small towns like
Madras. There may have been less class distinction in this largely agricultural community than in big cities and with a population of
less than 500 people, it would be hard to justify turning away anyone who was willing to
help.
The USO Camp Shows, featuring the
biggest stars of the day performing for the
troops overseas, were the most glamorous
arm of the organization, along with “Stage
Door Canteens” in big cities, where the GIs
could catch a show or go to a party any night
they had off.
But there were hundreds of more modest
USO centers around the nation and Madras’
was one of them.
A
Hurry up and Wait—
A Year and a Half of
Starts and Stops
s early as December of 1942, about a
month before the airfield opened, a committee met in Madras to plan for a local USO
center. In January 1943, the group gave itself
a name—Jefferson County USO Council—
and sent an application to the USO office in
Portland.
The council deliberately included representatives from a wide variety of local organizations. Judge T.A. Power, representing the
county, was the Chairman. Vice Chair Rev.
Wesley Graves represented local churches,
Secretary Mrs. Ralph Van Wert represented
the Sahalee Club, and Treasurer Mrs. R.W.
Cook represented the granges.
Other members were Mrs. Homer
Thomas, Eastern Star; Melvin Spitze, representing the schools; W.A. Hemmelgarn, representing the press; J.W. Warren, the lodges;
Mrs. Julia Dussault, the Legion Auxiliary;
Mrs. Lewis Irving, the Garden Club; Dr. V.S.
Howard, Chamber of Commerce; Maccie
Conroy, the Community Club; Fred L.
Rodman, American Legion; and Elyse Dee,
the Rebekas.
It seemed as though the Jefferson County USO was off to a good start, but the project stalled almost immediately.
4
On February 18, 1943, a month after the
USO Council sent its application to the USO
office in Portland, Madras Pioneer publisher
W.A. Hemmelgarn writes in his column
“About People and Stuff”: “We are wondering what has become of the USO that was
supposed to be here for the Army boys at the
Base?”
As the USO’s information officer, Hemmelgarn should have been in a position to
disseminate information about the USO, but
instead here he was helplessly asking his
readers for any news.
The regional USO continued to string our
local council along for several more months,
simply failing to send anyone to Madras to
take charge of the USO center. In the end,
the Madras USO did not open until the last
few days of May, 1943—almost six months
after planning got underway.
In the meantime, some efforts were
made to entertain the military men. Local
ladies tried to set up a temporary USO in the
Edward Thomas Recreation Center, but it
seems to have fizzled out.
The airfield attracted a traveling variety
show, the Wing-Dingers, which performed at
the community hall. The entertainers were
members of the 2nd Air Force who had been
performers in civilian life. Buddy Lake was
the MC, joined by Buddy Lewis, and Max
Artis (“the Fred Astaire of the Air Corps”),
with music by The Four Off-Beats, featuring
• THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY •
trucks, at least until the Madras USO could
Jim Hall on his electric Hammond organ,
get up and running.
Gordon Munro on drums, William Whipple
Finally, in April of 1943, USO official
on trumpet and Norman Edlan on saxoRobert L. Titus showed up, bringing big
phone.
promises to match the local council’s big
The civilian girls who worked at the airplans, not all of which seem to have materialfield put on a dance in the community hall.
ized. The regional USO was initially expected
And those same girls formed a basketball
to provide one or even two paid staff memteam that played against town teams around
bers to direct the center and there was talk of
Central Oregon, as did the GIs at the base.
adding on to the community hall “until it will
Still, by the middle of March, the lack of
an established USO center
was becoming enough of a
morale problem that the airfield’s commanding officer,
Major Arnold, spoke at a
Chamber of Commerce
meeting on the urgency of
finding some sort of regular
entertainment for the men.
W.A. Hemmelgarn’s
“About People and Stuff”
column in the March 25,
1943 Pioneer states that a
neighboring city (he coyly
declines to mention its
name, but it was probably
Prineville) had invited the
men from the Madras airfield to visit its soon-to-beopen USO center, since Interior of the Madras USO Center.
Madras didn’t have one.
resemble a group of buildings,” according to
Alarmed at the idea that the airmen
a report in the Pioneer.
might go elsewhere to spend their money,
Hemmelgarn urged, “It is understood that
However, there is no record in the Pioneer of the community hall being expanded.
the hall for the local USO set-up has been
arranged for, but so far no one has arrived in
On the contrary, an extant photo (see front
town to take over. This USO business should
cover) shows the USO as a single building
with little else around it.
be pushed and pushed hard until we find out
Instead, the community hall’s kitchen
just what is what.”
and snack bar were remodeled and the front
Major Arnold did in fact visit the
of the building painted. A new USO sign was
Prineville USO and made arrangements to
put up, blue letters on a white background.
send men from the Madras airfield over in
5
The community was asked to donate furnishings, especially rugs. The photo on this page
shows the interior, a large room with a wood
stove, kitchen area, and, indeed, rather bare
floors.
After making Jefferson County wait several months for a USO employee to come
start things up at the center, the regional
USO appointed someone who had been here
all along: Mrs. Arnold, the wife of the airfield’s commanding officer. There is no mention in
the Pioneer as to whether
she was paid for her work,
but she seemed to be just
as ambitious as the local
USO council.
Mrs. Arnold promised to contact every
woman in Jefferson County to volunteer at the USO.
Women were needed to
sew and mend for the servicemen, to bake cookies,
and to serve as hostesses
at the center. The girls of
Jefferson County were
called on to entertain the
men as junior hostesses.
Although the overall
operation was smaller than
originally anticipated, at peak times the USO
volunteers put in a lot of hours and dished
out plenty of comfort food.
The Pioneer reported that the grand
opening on May 29 was well attended by the
airmen as well as some WAACS from Camp
Abbot (located where Sunriver is now). The
dance featured music from two jukeboxes,
plus live music provided by an accordionplaying Private Amideo Pasquale from the
airfield and a Warm Springs boy--not identi-
fied by name, but almost certainly Gib Kalama—who played several numbers on the
piano.
The USO center served more than 150
dozen cookies and 3,000 cups of coffee in
June of 1943, its first full month of operation, Mrs. Arnold reported to the Pioneer,
and hostesses had put in more than 240
hours of volunteer service.
Mrs. Arnold organized the volunteer
work around the groups represented on
the USO council. The first week the USO was
open, she and Senior Hostess Effie Pillette
scrambled around and got by the best they
could with whatever volunteers they could
muster.
The second week of operation, Eastern
Star was responsible for providing the volunteers. The center was open every night for
coffee, cookies, and socializing, with a dance
on Saturday and a buffet dinner on
Sunday. The Rebekahs took the third week
and the local churches took the fourth week.
As far as we know, the organizations
stuck to the same format until August of
1943, when there was a break in the action
due to the first group of men being transferred from the airfield. A new group came
in immediately and USO activities resumed
quickly.
In September of 1943, having successfully gotten the USO
off the ground, Mrs. Arnold was
released from her duties and replaced by a paid USO staff
member from out of town by
the name of Robert Weis.
The following month, Weis
reported 3,160 visitors to the
USO in September, with 2,000
cups of coffee and 168 dozen
cookies served. November
brought 960 visitors who accepted 900 cups of coffee and
160 dozen cookies.
And then the Jefferson
County USO’s heyday came
to an abrupt end, six months
after it started. The 318th
Squadron of the 88th Bombing Group, 2nd Air Force,
Pages from the USO
register saved by Leita
Richardson.
6
• THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY •
which had been training pilots on B-17
bombers, moved out of the airfield
altogether.
Major Arnold was transferred to the
Walla Walla Airbase, much to the dismay of
both his staff and the civilians of Jefferson
County. Major Arnold and his wife had been
active in the community and well-liked by
all. [On a side note, the Major’s wife was always referred to in the Pioneer and in the
USO guest register as Mrs. Arnold or Mrs.
J.P. Arnold. In the many times she was
mentioned, her own first name was never
given.] Madras and the airfield personnel
said goodbye to the couple at a reception at
the USO center.
The 2nd Air Force’s departure left only a
skeleton crew at the airfield until its new occupants, the 546th Fighter Squadron, 475th
Fighter Group, 4th Air Force could move in.
The Pioneer made reference to a rumor that
1,500 men would be stationed at the Madras
Airfield by the middle of March, but according to pilot trainee Robert Cranston (See
Jarold Ramsey’s story “A Young Pilot’s Last
Letters from Madras Air Field in 1944” in
this issue), the next group included only 65
pilot-trainees.
Weis was reassigned to the Bend USO in
December, with the understanding that another paid director would be assigned to
Madras if needed. As it turned out, one was
not needed.
For the rest of the war, the population at
the airfield came and went. When a military
unit left the airfield, there would be a
stretch during which only a small group remained and the USO center was not well
enough attended to warrant keeping it open
all the time.
During those times, the USO would be
open just a few nights per week or only on
Saturdays and Sundays. Effie Pillette took
over as director and local organizations continued to provide the volunteers.
Groups such as the Madras Community
Club or the Local AF of L no. 2941 would
often sponsor a Saturday-night dance at the
“community hall,” with no mention of the
USO. Dan Macy’s orchestra usually provided the music and the advertised charges
were typically $1 per couple, 25 cents for
single ladies, and free for GIs.
There were just two more periods of
significant USO activity, from FebruaryMarch, 1944, when Cranston had his fatal
accident, and October-November of the
same year. The USO closed for good on November 26, 1944.
A Remnant of the Times
T
he Madras Community Hall was demolished many years ago, but at least one
artifact of the USO remains. Leita Richardson, who served as an advisor to the USO
7
junior hostesses, held on to a USO guest
register from 1944 and later donated it to
the JCHS.
The register covers USO activities from
February 9, 1944 to the end of May and then
another block of time from October to November of 1944. The men who signed the
register were from all over the United
States—New York, Illinois, Texas, Iowa,
Pennsylvania, California, Alaska, to name
just a few.
In the margins of the register, next to
some of the names, are nicknames or little
jokes—“Looey the Lug,” “Tonsorial Artiste,”
“Just plain lucky,” “Praying for Corporal,”
“Jersey Joe.”
The airmen usually listed their ranks in
front of their names. Most were privates,
privates first class, or corporals. Officers
had their own club at the airfield, so they
did not visit the USO for the most part.
Here and there, a Jefferson County
name appears, apparently servicemen home
on leave. Lynden M. Watts, W.V. Thomas,
Jesse Le Vern Eades, Frank J. Grant, and J.
Willis Freeman all signed the register, listing Madras or Culver as home. Staff Sergeant Edward Landau listed Madras as his
future home.
In the middle of the guest register are
nine pages of names and mailing addresses
of airmen, all in the same handwriting and
dating from the airfield’s opening in Janu-
ary, 1943 up to April, 1944. Even Major
Arnold’s home town, Denver, CO, is given,
though not his street address.
Two guests who signed the register on
Feb. 12, 1944, Cpl Joseph C. Hojnacki and
Romeo Crepeau, appear to have each written
the poems “Just Remember” and “Always” in
the very back of
the book. Hojnacki’s handwriting is the more
legible, so it looks
as though he
copied Crepeau’s
poems so that people could read
them.
The last two
USO guests signed in on
Nov. 26, 1944—the last day
of operation for the Madras
USO.
The guest register is a
precious piece of local history containing information not available elsewhere. It gives us a
glimpse of the servicemen who were stationed at the Madras airfield via their handwriting, their jokes or comments written in
the margins, and poems that resonated with
them.
U
Recollections of Two
Junior Hostesses
nfortunately, the details provided by the
guest register leave us guessing. They
are tantalizing, but they don’t really get to
the good stuff. What was it like to suddenly
have this unprecedented influx of young men
from all over the country? What were the
men like and what kinds of interactions did
they have with the locals? How did their
presence change the atmosphere in Madras
and the rest of the county? Where did their
military careers take them, after Madras?
For those who survived the war, did any of
them ever re-visit Madras in later years?
Jackie Bryant.
Madras and Antelope resident Barbara
Borthwick Metteer does not appear on either
list, but nevertheless did volunteer a handful
of times as a junior hostess.
Barbara was a 15-year-old high school
freshman when the
USO center
opened in May,
1943. Her family
had a farm near
Antelope, so she
and her younger
sister Janet
roomed with Ken
and Alice Sawyer
in Madras during
the week in order
to attend high
school in what is
now known as
Westside Elementary.
Above: LaRee Cram Smoot and Helen Marston
Mrs. Sawyer
Rogers, 1944. At left: Barbara Metteer at her
was a member of
home in Madras.
one of the local organizations that sponsored USO activities
Most of the people who could tell us are
(probably Eastern Star), and it was she who
long gone. As far as we know, all the USO
recruited both Barbara and Janet to serve as
council members, the sewing committee, the
junior hostesses at some of the events.
cookie bakers, and the senior hostesses—
Barbara does not recall submitting an
most of them middle aged at the time—have
application or going through any training.
passed away, but a few of the 40 or so junior
She and Janet simply accompanied Mrs.
hostesses are still among us.
Sawyer.
We know their names because some are
“I think we only served coffee and tea
given in the back of Leita Richardson’s guest
and pop and maybe some cookies,” Barbara
register and others are named in Pioneer arsaid. “I don’t remember serving sandwiches
ticles. They are too many to list here in full,
or anything like that.”
but a few names familiar to local history
“I was pretty bashful when I was young. I
buffs are worth mentioning: Thelma and
had a little hard time going out and talking to
Marjorie Haberstich, Laurel Gard, Elaine
strange boys,” Barbara continued. She greetPercival, Marcella Zemke, Helen Marston,
ed the young men when they came in, but
Elna Degner, June Hering, Evelyn Kelly,
8
• THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY •
mostly stayed out of sight in the kitchen.
Barbara said that although she was afraid
for our servicemen away at war, the men she
met from the airfield did not seem to be apprehensive about the fighting. “They were so
young,” she said. “That’s what they wanted to
do. That was their ambition [to be in the Air
Force] and they were excited and happy.”
According to Barbara, the young men
were well-behaved. “They were wonderful,”
she said. “They were just boys.”
Barbara remembers watching the pilots
training above the airfield as she walked to
school and she also remembers the pilot
trainees being at the high school because the
military used one or two classrooms for
teaching them. “We never seemed to ever
meet in the hall much, but I would hear them
walk down the hall.”
Although Barbara was too shy to interact
much with the young men herself, she said,
“Several girls my age had Air Force boys for
special friends and I would hear them talk
about their contacts.”
Jackie Bryant Newbill, was less reserved
than Barbara. In written recollections provided to her cousin, Jerry Ramsey, Jackie
says,
“I very well remember the many dances
at the USO in that old building downtown.
Sometimes they would have the dances up at
the air base and come and get us in a bus.
Madeline [Kelly] and I were the youngest of
the whole group (14) but I looked much older
so don't remember ever missing a dance.
What fun all that was. Mom [Bea Ramsey
Bryant] Aunt Verl [Verl Ramsey Rice], Lois
McKenzie, and Leita Richardson were the official chaperones. I remember Louise [another cousin--Louise Rice, married Verne
Campbell] had just started dating Verne and
he couldn't deal very well with Louise dancing with those ‘Flyboys’ as he called them.
Navy guys had no use for anyone who wasn't
Navy.”
Jackie brings up the point that not all the
entertaining of airmen occurred in the community hall. A story in the Oct 19, 1944 Pioneer confirms that junior hostesses from
Madras, Prineville, and Redmond were invited to the opening of the officers’ club at the
Madras airfield.
Jackie goes on to describe another popular activity:
“They brought a bus down quite often
and a bunch of us would go out to the old
Mary Williams ranch [on the way to
Metolius] and go horseback riding on her
horses. I got bucked off the first day on the
oldest horse she had, so that ended my
horseback riding.”
And, of course, there were a few romances, both wannabe and real. Jackie
wrote that two of her friends had crushes on
a couple of sergeants, who both turned out to
be married and much older than the girls.
According to Jackie, another local
woman started seeing a man from the airfield on the sly. When he was transferred to
LaGrande, she went with him, leaving her
husband behind.
No doubt there were many more juicy
stories about the airfield and the USO, but
most of the people who could tell them have
either moved away or passed away. Unless a
new source comes to light, we will probably
never hear them.
Readers, if you have any photos or
personal memories of Jefferson County during World War II, or about the USO
in Madras specifically, that you would like to
share, please do so by contacting Jane
Ahern at 541-475-3610 or by
e-mail at [email protected].
The World War II years form a distinct
era in Jefferson County’s history, as they do
9
for the rest of the country. By the time the
war started, our local farmers and ranchers
had been holding on by their fingernails
through decades of drought and Depression
and things did not get any easier during the
war. Not only were people still working hard
to get by, they were also asked to give and
give and give to the war effort.
Though Jefferson County is a very different place today, some of the elements of the
story of the Madras USO are still familiar: officials from the valley promising, but not delivering; neighboring towns poaching our
customers, probably with the insinuation
that they can provide better services than
backwards Madras; and concern among
businesspeople that local money will be
spent in those neighboring towns instead of
here.
But other, more flattering motifs emerge
as well, such as our community’s willingness
to volunteer where needed and the pragmatism and persistence exhibited in getting the
job done. May that spirit continue.
On the national level, the USO closed
down after World War II, only to start back
up again in 1950 to support servicemen in
the Korean War. Closer to home, on July 1 of
this year, USO Northwest opened a USO center at the Portland airport to give members
of the armed forced a place to relax between
flights.
And the USO even has a renewed presence in Madras, albeit in a completely different capacity. In February, Annie and Cary
Coogan, formerly of Bend, opened a new
store on 5th Street at the North Y called the
Root Beer Stand Thrift Store. Because the
Coogans’ son is a career soldier in the Army
and has benefitted from the USO himself,
they have pledged to give ten percent of their
proceeds to the USO.
E
A Young Pilot’s Last Letters from
Madras Air Field in 1944
by Jarold Ramsey
arly in March 1944, a detachment of the 546th Fighter
Squadron, 475th Fighter Group, 4th Air Force, arrived at
Madras Army Air Field. Previously, the field had been home
base for the 318th Squadron, 88th
Bombing Group, 2nd Air Force, training pilots and crews in B-17F “Flying
Fortresses.” Now, operations had
shifted to the 4th Air Force, and the
newly-arrived pilots and crews of the
546th would be getting initial training in Bell P-39Q “Airacobra” fighter
planes (an example of which is on
display at the Erickson Air Museum
at the Madras Airport).
Among the 65 pilot-trainees based at Madras was 2nd Lt. Robert
L. Cranston, not quite 20 years old, from Green Bay, Wisconsin. Like
his flying mates, he had earlier gone through basic, primary, and advanced flight training in Arizona and California, and had “won his
wings” shortly before being assigned to the 546th and posted to
Madras.
The P-39 was in some respects a questionable airplane for the
Army Air Force to use for the purpose of transitioning inexperienced
pilots like Cranston for eventual combat duty in first-line planes like
the P-38 “Lightning,” the P-47 “Thunderbolt,” and the P-51 “Mustang.” By 1944, the Airacobra, though still in production, was not firstline, and was consequently available for training purposes stateside;
but it was fast, tricky, and somewhat unforgiving, with a radical design: very small and compact, with its big Allison engine located behind the pilot, who sat straddling a long drive-shaft that ran out to the
propeller in the plane’s distinctive bullet-shaped nose. Used extensive-
2nd Lt. Robert L. Cranston
Bell P-39Q “Aircobra” fighter plane
(Erickson Aircraft Collection)
10
• THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY •
ly in the South Pacific early in the War (Culver’s “Ace” Rex Barber flew it there before
stepping up to the P-38 and his fateful rendezvous with Admiral Yamamoto), by 1944 it
had acquired a mixed reputation, notably in
terms of widespread reports that in the
course of extreme maneuvers it would literally “tumble” end-over-end, apparently because of its short-coupled design and small
tail surfaces. Nevertheless, it was available,
and in 1944 the Air Force was under considerable pressure to produce as many fighterpilots as rapidly as it could, and so young
trainees like Robert Cranston were assigned
to it on bases all over the West—not without
numerous accidents, some fatal.
When Cranston came to Madras, he had
a total of just 225 hours flying time, in primary, basic, and advanced trainers. He and
his mates took turns flying their Airacobras
every day, following a strict syllabus of flight
plans, learning by increments how to handle
a real warplane. But on the afternoon of
Thursday, March 23, 1944, Cranston somehow lost control of his ship over the north
end of Agency Plains, sending it into a
power-dive, which tore off a wing, causing an
explosion that blew him out of the plane. He
landed, still in his seat, his parachute unopened, near the wreckage of the plane, in a
field along Ivy Lane.
As it happened, I was, age 7, a near eyewitness to the crash. My father had picked
me up after school (at our little one-room
“New Era” school), and we were visiting with
a friend, Floyd Evick, on Columbia Drive
when the plane went down. We drove to the
crash-site and looked it over, before Dad and
Floyd went on to the airfield to notify the authorities. For a time, I had nightmares about
what I’d seen, and in later years brooded intermittently about the experience, and what I
didn’t know—who the pilot was, where he
was from, and how and why the crash happened.
But a few years ago, thanks to the random bounty of the Internet, I was able to get
hold of the USAAF accident files on the
crash, and learned
enough from them and
other research to write a
long essay about Robert
Cranston and his fatal
crash (“Airacobra: In
Memoriam 2nd Lt. Robert
L. Cranston,” Northwest
Review 48, 1, 2010, 58-76).
I thought I had finally written “closed” on my long obsession with his tragic
story—except for one haunting detail, about which I
could learn nothing. In reporting the crash on March
30, 1944, the Madras Pioneer
had noted (without naming
Cranston) that, “It is thought
that the young lieutenant’s fiancée was on
her way to Madras and an intended marriage, but arrived one day too late.”
Impetuous marriages were frequent during WWII, sometimes with unhappy consequences . . . but this story seemed especially
heartbreaking, all the more so because it appeared to be a mystery without key or clue—
nothing on record, at least locally, as to the
young woman’s name, where she was from,
what happened to her. Decades later, around
Madras nobody had ever heard of her woeful
visit: was it just wartime “scuttlebutt,”
picked up by the Pioneer?
But about a year after my essay on
Cranston appeared in print (and on the Internet), I received a call—“out of the blue,” as
11
they say—from a man in the Bay Area named
Zack Harwell. His mother Vivian, he said,
had recently passed away, and in her effects
he found a packet of letters and photos
recording her brief, ill-fated romance with
Robert Cranston. Harwell said that his mother had never spoken of
it to him. He had
“googled” Cranston,
and found my essay.
He was calling to offer
to donate his mother’s
packet to the Jefferson County Historical
Society Archives.
The letters were
mainly from
Cranston (his mother wrote several to
Vivian after his
death). The earliest
is dated August 5,
1943, and the last
was
posted from
Vivian Duganzich, 1943
Madras on March
22, 1944, the day before he died. Apparently
they met sometime in the summer of 1943, in
San Francisco, possibly at a U.S.O. function;
he probably had a weekend pass from his
current training assignment at Salinas Air
Base. From the start, his letters are passionate exclamations of love for his “Dear Dugy”
(her family name was Duganzich). As he was
shifted around from base to base in California and Arizona (Salinas, Sequoia/Visalia,
Gardner/Santa Ana, Hamilton/Williams in
Arizona, and back to Salinas), he seems to
have found ways to visit her frequently, including several times in San Jose, where she
was attending San Jose State University, and
at least once at her parents’ fruit and nut
Left to right Robert
Cranston and Vivian
Duganzich; Grayhound
bus entering Madras
(northbound); Cranston
map of Madras, March
1944.
farm near Mountain View, northwest of San
Jose. “True love will find a way.”
By early 1944, Cranston was already
writing about their marriage, and at one
point expressed his relief that Vivian’s mother had given her consent—and also the anxious hope that his father (a prominent Green
Bay attorney) would soon do likewise. Apparently, the plan was for them to be married
in California, and live together there as long
as they could before Cranston’s next transfer,
possibly overseas. But at this point in the
young couple’s headlong planning, the iron
realities of life in wartime began to catch up
with them. First, Robert’s letters to his parents, and specifically to his father about his
plans to marry, were lost in the chaos of
wartime mail, probably because of his frequent moves from base to base. They finally
were delivered to Green Bay in a bundle the
same day in mid-March that, in desperation,
their son telephoned them with his plan! His
parents were understandably astonished,
and concerned, especially because during his
brief furlough visit home in early February,
he had only mentioned meeting Vivian and
liking her—nothing as serious as marriage.
As far as they knew, until his call, his only
“serious” girlfriend was a young woman from
Chicago he had met before enlisting.
The other military disruption of their
marriage plans came in very early March in
the form of the order for Robert’s unit of
pilot-trainees to report to Redmond, Oregon
Airfield for training in P-39s. His next letter
is from Madras, dated March 18, and it conveys his extreme frustration over the turning
of events:
“Ever since our marriage was thrown on
the rocks [he means his transfer to Oregon]
we have been having trouble, and now you
should see where I have ended up. I had to
be eager and report to Redmond early Saturday [after a 24-hour bus ride from Salinas],
11
12
so what happens to me but that I have to be
sent on up north to this hell of a place called
Madras. You ought to see the town here.
There are only about 430 people in town and
is it ever a little jerkwater. Ouch! Remember
what you and I agreed on, for you to come up
here. Well, where the dickens you would live
is beyond me. The base here has only 65 officer trainees so you can gather the size. Accommodations are very poor to say the least.
There is only one consolation. No place to
spend my money . . . .”
In an undated letter a few days later,
their prospects still looked bleak. “The base
here . . . is a hell hole—38 miles from
nowhere—Redmond—and 100 miles from
anywhere—Portland—and longer than that
from you—which is somewhere. . . . . Capt.
Wilson, our CO, asked who was married and
had their wives here. Two fellows raised their
hands, and he said to them, ‘You had better
go to town today and see them, for you won’t
• THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY •
see them for the remainder of your stay here
. . . ’ We fly 7 days a week and have to remain
on the base.” [Confirming this restriction,
the “Guest Register” for the Madras U.S.O.
for March 1944 records no visits from
Cranston or any of his flying mates from the
546th. See article on the Madras U.S.O. in
this issue.]
But by March 21, his outlook was
brighter. “Guess what I did today. I soloed
the P-39. Gosh they are a sweet little ship.
When I say little I mean very very tiny, or
less. All motor, pilot, and guns . . . . “ And in
the same rush of excitement, he hints (as
much as he dares, given military restrictions)
about “some very good news”—evidently that
by the end of March, his outfit will be transferred to Portland, meaning that she can
come up, they can get married, post haste,
and then she can move with him to Portland.
He mentions that his best buddy in the
546th, Henry “Hank” Corbin, is planning to
marry at Easter—so perhaps Henry’s bride
and Vivian can share an apartment in Portland while their husbands are stationed
there.
Cranston’s final letters to Vivian are
feverish with plans and expectations, and
crammed with logistical details about how
she can make the long bus trip up to Madras,
via Klamath Falls, where she can stay while
in Madras, and so on. He wants her to come
either Friday (March 24) or Saturday (March
25), and, knowing that he probably won’t be
able to leave the base to meet her bus, he
draws her a wonderful impromptu map of
downtown Madras as it was in 1944, highlighting the Madras Hotel on Main Street,
where he has reserved a room for her, and
other local establishments she might need to
know about, like Dick Doty’s Café and the
drugstore. (See map on page 12).
His last communication is a telegram,
sent from Madras on Wednesday March 22
at 1:12 pm:
“COME TO MADRAS LEAVE FRIDAY OR SATURDAY RESERVATIONS AT NEW MADRAS HOTEL
ANSWER AND LET ME KNOW
WHEN TO EXPECT YOU I LOVE
YOU HAVE SOME VERY GOOD
NEWS FOR YOU US WE WILL BE
MARRIED VERY SOON AFTER
YOU ARRIVE ALL MY LOVE BOB
Around 3:25 pm on the afternoon of
Thursday, March 23, 2nd Lt. Robert L.
Cranston was killed in the crash of his P-39
Airacobra on Agency Plains, about seven
miles north of the airfield. Mercifully (if fate
allows for any mercy), Vivian Duganzich had
not begun her long bus trip from San Jose to
Madras; someone, most likely Henry Corbin,
must have telephoned her with the terrible
news before she set out. Corbin—who went
on with his unit to fly P-38s in combat in Europe—accompanied his friend’s body back to
Green Bay, Wisconsin, for burial. In 1946,
Vivian took flying lessons herself and earned
her pilot’s license; she eventually married,
and her son from a second marriage, Zack
Harwell, now owns her parents’ farm near
Mountain View, California.
After seventy years, we’ll probably never
know for sure what caused Robert Cranston
to lose control of his Airacobra in the course
of a short, routine training flight—the official
USAAF accident report did not reach a conclusion as to cause. But reading Cranston’s
impassioned letters to his beloved “Dugy,”
and considering all that was competing for
his attention during his hectic few weeks at
Madras Air Field—distress at leaving Califor-
10
13
nia and giving up plans to marry her there,
fretting about the silence from his parents on
his request for permission to marry, then
with the news of the impending transfer to
Portland trying to cobble together arrangements for her to come to Madras, get married, and somehow set up housekeeping in
Portland, and running through it all, seven
days a week, coping with the grueling and
nerve-wracking work of trying to learn to fly
a dangerous fighter-plane—considering all
this, it’s hard to avoid the speculation that
his over-loaded and distracted state of mind
must have contributed to his crash. In the
words of a WWII “Ace,” Col. Charles Falletta,
who flew the Airacobra extensively in combat, “You had to know what you were doing
to handle it, or you would kill yourself.” (In
Rick Mitchell, Airacobra Advantage, p. 85).
Seventy years, and the fields of Agency
Plains and, for that matter, the little “jerkwater” town of Madras have changed greatly
since Robert Cranston once flew over them.
But the sad story of his romance with the
beautiful girl from California still tells us
something worth knowing about the devotion and resilience of the people who have
fought our wars, both in battle and at home.
And it also testifies, like so many other stories like it, to the terrible mind-numbing
waste of human lives and dreams in time of
war. That is why it is so important for Robert
Cranston’s last letters from Madras, and the
U.S.O. Guestbook he never signed, to be preserved in the Historical Society Archives, and
likewise for the old WWII hangars at
“Madras Army Airfield,” where he and his
mates once hung out, waiting for their
chance to fly, to be faithfully preserved and
visited. They are vivid pieces of our history,
whose value is both local and national.
H
Six Jefferson County
Homestead Orchards
by Jarold Ramsey
conserve the homestead oristorically, the
chards of Central Oregon?
portion of CenImplicit in these histortral Oregon now
ical questions is a deeper
incorporated in Jefferson
and more urgent question
County was one of the
about the conservation of
last areas in the United
our food resources. In ForStates to have been setgotten Fruits Manual and
tled by homesteaders
Manifesto: APPLES (edited
(1890-1920), and like
by Gary Paul Nabhan), it is
their forebears dating
claimed that over the last
back to the days of Johnhalf-century, eighty percent
ny Appleseed, many of
of the apple varieties
them planted fruit trees
unique to America have esas part of “proving up”
sentially vanished from
and gaining title to their
view, along with “a dramathomestead claims. Many
ic loss of traditional knowlof them also planted
edge about what apples
Lombardy poplars for
grow best in a particular loshade and windbreak, so
cality.” The Forgotten
that today, more than a
Fruits Manifesto also emcentury later, many
phasizes the crucial imporhomestead sites in eastOmar Cyrus orchard - Joanie Cooper, President of Home Orchard Society, inspects
tance of “abandoned orern Jefferson County are an heirloom “Yellow Transparent” apple tree.
chards” as sources for recovhauntingly marked by tall
ering these “lost” varieties and the know-how necessary to cultivate
sentinel poplars. And on many of these sites stand equally ancient
them.
apple trees, some of them still bearing fruit after years of total neglect.
The Manifesto offers these comments by the well-known nature
These pioneer orchards (typically just a few trees, but occasionalwriter Verlyn Klinkenborg, writing in the New York Times for Nov. 9,
ly as many as 100) are a living part of our local historical heritage,
2009:
linking us to the aspirations, know-how, and food preferences of our
ancestors on this land. What varieties are there among these gnarly
“Those trees [in abandoned orchards] are an archive of apple
old survivors? (Undoubtedly some of them are now-forgotten “heirdiversity, holding out the possibility of preserving apple genoloom” varieties like Astrakhan, Sheepsnose, Winter Banana, and so
types that might otherwise have vanished. But this kind of reon.) And why—for what reasons of taste and cooking—were they chosearch makes a broader point. If all that nineteenth-century
sen by the settlers? Why did they plant their trees in these particular
apple diversity reflects different purposes and different needs, it
sites on their homestead properties? Where did they get the treealso reflects a taste for differences. So the next apple you buy,
starts, or seeds? And how can we now, in the 21st century, protect and
14
• THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY •
think about all of its hundreds and thousands of abandoned cousins.
Think of the agricultural biodiversity they represented; think, too, of the
diversity of tastes that made them possible. We now live in the world of
the generic apple, in large part because our taste buds have gone generic.
Cultivating ourselves is the first step toward our re-diversifying the fields
and orchards around us.”
The Boegli Orchard, The Cove.
So, for all these historical and ecological reasons for inquiry (and for the fun
of a grownup treasure hunt over rough ground!), the Jefferson County Historical Society undertook in August 2012 to collaborate with the Home Orchard Society of Portland, in mounting the first Central Oregon “homestead orchard
tour.” It was a great success, in part because 2012 was a bumper year for local
fruit-crops (2014 was another), and at the time of our visit to the old orchards
around Gray Butte, the trees were loaded with ripe or ripening apples. We prepared for the Tour itself by scouting out the orchards a week before the tour
with our Home Orchard Society guests, Joanie Cooper and Shaun Shepherd of
Portland. These enthusiastic and expert “fruit detectives” carefully mapped the
old trees, took samples and cuttings for future study and identifications; and on
their return for the actual tour, greatly enhanced both our understanding of the
lore and life-cycle of fruit trees, and our appreciation of the living historical
legacy of our forgotten homestead orchards.
What follows are brief accounts of six of these treasures in Jefferson
County:
A
The Cove Orchard
(approximately 1745 ft.)
ny account of pioneer orchards in Jefferson County needs to begin with the
first one—the once-celebrated “Cove Orchard” deep in Crooked River
canyon west of Culver. The original homesteader of the Cove, William Clark
Rogers, probably planted some fruit trees soon after he settled there in 1879; his
successor, T.F. “Ferd” McCallister, acquired the place in 1888, and established a
real orchard there, with apples and peaches, which thrived in the mild “micro-
15
Pioneer ad, 1907
climate” of the canyon bottom. William
Boegli (later the first judge of Jefferson
County) bought the place in 1905, and developed what became the first sizeable commercial orchard in Central Oregon, with 11 acres
of irrigated apples, pears, apricots, peaches
(his “Yellow Crawford” variety was highly
prized), plums, prunes, and grapes. In its
heyday through about 1920, the Cove Orchard supplied markets in Prineville and
Bend once or twice a week, hauling the fruit
up the arduous grade up Crooked River
Canyon; later (in 1940), Boegli sold the Cove
to the Oregon State Highway Commission
and it became a much loved state park, the
site of many picnics and camp-outs, especially for locals, until it was flooded in 1964 by
the completion of Round Butte Dam and the
creation of Lake Billy Chinook.
It’s historically regrettable that the
throngs of fishermen, water-skiers, and
pleasure and house boaters who flock to the
lake every summer are unaware that 200 feet
below the surface, not far from the main
bridge, on the west side, the Cove and its
neat buildings and trees lie unmarked and
forgotten. And in terms of the renewed interest in “heritage” fruit varieties today, it’s too
bad that the identities of most of Bill Boegli’s
fruit trees are unknown, and now unknowable.
The Clark Orchard
A
(about 3600 feet)
cross Blizzard Ridge on the Old Ashwood Road (on east from its intersection
with Wilson Creek Road, which leads on to
the “new” Ashwood Road), along a grade
leading to the southeast edge of the Ridge
and the final descent into Ashwood, lies the
Clark Place. It is marked nowadays by its
including the ubiquitous Yellow Transparent
surviving orchard—located where the grade
and Blue Permain apples, and other apple
makes a sharp switchback across a gully (on
varieties as yet unidentified, and plums, aprithe south side of the road). Jim Clark and his
cots, and pears. Note: the Clark Orchard is
family settled here in the 1890s; he was a deon private land, owned by the Fessler family
scendant of the leaders of the Clark emigrant
of Madras.
train of 1851, which was attacked by Indians
along the Snake River, with several fatalities.
Eventually, the Clark party reached the Deschutes River, and camped at what is now Pi(about 3800 feet)
oneer Park on Bend’s north side. According
to Evada Power in Jefferson County Reminiscences, after the Clarks established their
ulius and Sarah Osborn McCoin homeBlizzard Ridge ranch, the Clarks “kept travel
steaded here on the southeast flank of
[took in travelers], and Mrs. Clark’s skill with
Gray Butte in the spring of 1886, at the head
sour dough became known far and wide. Her
of a gully with a good spring. Julius set up as
biscuits were the kind that melted in the
a freighter between Prineville and The Dalles
mouth and always
kept a hunger for just
one more. To latecomers [along Ashwood Road] with their
one and two-room
cabins, the Clark
homestead with its
wall-to-wall rag carpet, three bedrooms
and hospitable board
seemed like an oasis in
a desert. Many a
weary traveler made it
a point to stop at the
Clark Place at meal
time, finding replenishment of body and
spirit. The orchard set Julius McCoin and his grown children, l. to rt Walter, Ella
out by the Clarks is a Mendenhall, Minnie Helfrich, Numa, early 1920s.
well-known spot on
the Ashwood Road.”(p.44) Nowadays, all of
and sometimes Shaniko, driving big 12-horse
the Clarks’ buildings are long gone, but their
wagons loaded with wool, meat, hides and
apple and pear trees survive on the south
other produce going out, and merchandise
(uphill) side of the road in the switchback,
(notably big barrels of whisky) coming back.
somehow managing to bear fruit every year,
According to family tradition, early on he
The McCoin Orchard
J
16
• THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY •
began returning home with fruit-tree starts (presumably from The
Dalles) to plant in the protected gully below his house, until his orchard—apples, pears, plums, etc.—numbered over 100 trees, of which
over 70 survive today.
In the winter of 1886, while Julius was off on one of his freight runs,
Sarah McCoin died suddenly, leaving three of their children still at
home—Minnie (9), Ella (8), and Walter (4). Taking stock of his family’s
predicament, Julius decided that, with Minnie in charge, his kids had
gumption enough to run the ranch during his absences, sometimes for
up to two weeks, and in fact he never re-married. As an old lady, Minnie
McCoin Helfrich recalled how the summer after their mother died, she
and Ella and Walter had to wash up all the moldy jars and lids from the
previous year’s fruit canning—kid-like, in their mother’s absence they
had eaten the canned fruit without bothering to wash the containers!
Whether the McCoins actually sold fruit commercially from their big
orchard is doubtful; more likely, they simply offered the overflow to
their neighbors around Gray Butte, Opal City, Old Culver, Haystack, and
Lamonta. When the McCoin property was sold in the early 1930s to the
National Grasslands/“Relocation”/Marginal Lands program, the house
and buildings were torn down and the orchard abandoned. But in the
1970s two USFS/National Grasslands range specialists in from
Prineville, Duane Ecker and Harry Ketrenos, rescued the surviving trees
by systematically pruning them and cleaning out brush. Fruit identified
so far include Roxbury, Northern Spy, Yellow Transparent, and Astrakhan apples, and some pears and plums in the lower orchard.
Today, the McCoin Orchard is a much-visited scenic spot, and the
trail-head for the popular Gray Butte Trail is just south of the McCoin
home site in the poplars. Recognizing the growing popularity of and interest in the site, the National Grasslands division of the U.S. Forest
Service is currently preparing an application for official recognition of it
and the Cyrus homestead sites and orchards in the National Registry of
Historic Places. To reach the McCoin orchard, turn off Laurel Lane at
the Scales Corral onto Road 500, and follow it, bearing left, about 2 ½
17
Cyrus homestead around 1900, site of modern horse-camp.
Enoch Cyrus family, early 1900s.
miles uphill to Road 17. Go right on 17 to the
Orchard and Gray Butte Trailhead.
T
The Cyrus Horse
Camp Orchard
(about 3400 feet)
his very popular campsite and meeting
place for riders (administered by the
Crooked River National Grasslands in collaboration with local saddle-clubs) is located on
the site of the 1882 homestead of Enoch and
Mary Cyrus. In 1882, the Gray Butte country
was so sparsely settled that Mrs. Cyrus later
recalled that for their first seven months on
the place, she didn’t see another woman! But
within a few years, they built a two-story,
four-bedroom house here and farmed about
500 acres with their five sons and two
daughters. Enoch Cyrus was a very innovative farmer, introducing barbed-wire fences
to this part of Central Oregon, pioneering a
strain of hard winter wheat (which became
known as “Cyrus Wheat”), and innovating
new machines for harvesting grain, including
a reaper-binder. The Cyruses typically ran
1500-3000 head of sheep, planted huge vegetable gardens, and kept up orchards of apples, crabapples, peaches, and pears. Only
apples survive today, including Yellow
Transparents and several varieties of red fall
apples as yet unidentified.
In 1900, Enoch and Mary left the Gray
Butte ranch and became homesteaders again
in the Cloverdale area between Redmond
and Sisters, where they were able to practice
irrigated farming, and they launched a new
crop for Central Oregon—seed potatoes. In
the heyday of potato farming in Deschutes
and Jefferson Counties (1940-1975), the
Cyrus spud cellars around Cloverdale were a
prime source of seed potatoes. After his parents moved to Cloverdale, their youngest
son, Dean, ran the Gray Butte place (with
time out for a few years after 1910 for landspeculating in the boom state of Florida!),
and eventually he sold it to the Relocation/Marginal Lands program in 1934.
From Laurel Lane, turn off at “Horse
Camp” sign just east of Gray Butte Cemetery
(another historic site worth visiting), and follow “Hagman Road” uphill and southeasterly
to the Horse Camp. The orchard lies just
south and uphill from the Camp.
O
The Omer Cyrus
Orchard
(about 3400 feet)
mer, Enoch and Mary’s “middle” son,
homesteaded here about a half-mile
west of his parents’ place, in 1900. His house
and buildings—torn down in the “re-location” work of the early 30s—were in the
grove of trees just west of and below his orchard. A dedicated pioneer photographer, he
worked in a studio next to his house until his
eyesight deteriorated to the point that he
couldn’t “tint” photos or use his equipment.
Omer’s orchard, situated on a north-sloping
hillside with no obvious source of water, is
remarkably well-preserved, with vigorous
small trees bearing copious fruiting of “summer apples” (Yellow Transparents),
Jonathans, and, as identified by Shaun Shepherd of the Home Orchard Society, a very
rare variety known as “Esteline.” There are
also Purple Siberian crabapples and a few
pears. As in the McCoin Orchard, the survival of the two Cyrus orchards owes much to
the timely and expert intervention of Duane
Ecker and Harry Ketrenos in the 1970s.
18
L
The Omer Cyrus
“Barn Orchard”
(about 3200 feet)
ocated below and about one-third of a
mile northwest of the main Omer Cyrus
orchard, this cluster of old trees was recently
“re-discovered” in the course of the preparation of a National Grasslands application to
list the McCoin and Cyrus homesteads and
orchards as National Historic Sites. Apparently, Omer Cyrus’s barn must have overlooked the orchard, which covers roughly
eight acres and includes numerous trees,
about 30 of which are still living. Most seem
to be apples and crabapples; identification of
varieties will have to wait until summer and
the setting-on of fruit. Unlike the McCoin
and main Cyrus orchards, this one is heavily
overgrown with brush and junipers.
Interest in Central Oregon’s “homestead
orchards” like these continues to grow, and
the Jefferson County Historical Society will
probably offer another orchard tour in the
near future. We have also informally projected an “orchard survey” of the area, in collaboration with the Home Orchard Society, and
to that end we would welcome from readers
reports and suggestions about particular
sites—please send to Jarold Ramsey, [email protected], 541-475-5390.
Further reading:
Pome News, the quarterly of the Home Orchard Society (PO Box 23092, Tigard, Oregon 97281,
http://www.homeorchardsociety.org)
Gary Paul Nabhan, Forgotten Fruits Manual and
Manifesto: Apples, 2010 (http://www.raftalliance.org)
Roger Yepsen, Apples (Norton, 1994)
Susan Dolan, Fruitful Legacy: A Historic Context of
Orchards in the United States (U.S. Interior Dept.,
2009)
• THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY •
President’s
Message
ANNUAL
DINNER
I
feel very privileged to have been elected as the new President of the Jefferson County Historical Society. The
board has had a much esteemed leader in
Jerry Ramsey for the last several years and
we are very glad to continue to have him
as a board member.
It is with excitement and enthusiasm that
I take on this transition at this time. We
are entering into a very interesting phase
of the Historical Society’s growth. We
have had huge success with our History
Pubs, the revitalized Agate and we are
right now restructuring our web site. We hope to add more events to that list
in the near future. We are lucky to have such a hard-working and eager board
that is willing to try new avenues to promote history in Jefferson County.
Our membership is the backbone of the society. We have many volunteer
opportunities for those who wish to partake. So for those who haven’t renewed their membership, please do so and for those who have never been
members, please take the time to join now. I look forward to a bright year
ahead for the JCHS.
Thank you,
Lottie Holcomb
Join Us for the 2015
JCHS Annual Dinner!
Saturday. April 11
Madras Senior Center
Social Hour - 5 p.m
Dinner - 6 p.m.
HOME-STYLE ROAST BEEF DINNER
“with all the trimmings”
Live Music • Historical Exhibits and
Displays • 2015 Beth Crow Award
Talk by Gateway native and
well-known Oregon state administrator
Marla Rae (Vibbert) Watson
Reservations $40 per guest:
send checks to
“Annual Dinners,”
Jefferson County Historical Society,
P.O. Box 647, Madras OR 97741
Tickets will be held for you at the door.
Men’s, Women’s
& Children’s clothing
36 NW 'A' Street, Madras • 541.475.2253 • www.agwestsupply.com
19
A Painting of Madras — ?
C
Heaney, Town of Madras
harles Heaney (1897-1981) was a versatile and widely-acclaimed
Northwest painter whose works are on permanent display in the
Portland Art Museum and other major galleries and museums.
He grew up and lived most of his life in Portland, but in the 1950s went
on frequent car-trips into central and eastern Oregon, in the course of
which he photographed and sketched small towns and spacious, remote
highway vistas. One of his paintings from this series, titled “Town of
Madras,” hangs in the Carl Hall Gallery of the Hallie Ford Museum of
Art in Salem.
The fact that it doesn’t much look like Madras is puzzling, but
Heaney’s approach in such works was, in the words of Roger Hull,
Professor Emeritus of Art History at Willamette University, “less documentary than poetic and meditative—based on drawings but also on his
memory and imagination as a traveler passing through, observing but
not settling.” (“Collection Guide,” Carl Hall Gallery, Hallie Ford
Museum, 2011)
Another part of the puzzle is that in the studio, Heaney regularly used
a collection of small wood-and-cardboard models of buildings—church-
es, stores, dwellings, and so on—placing them in varying combinations
to look at as he “reconstructed” the small towns he was painting.
“Artistic license,” as we say (begging nearly every question)—but there
do seem to be some recognizable elements of Madras in the painting:
the Highway 26 grade leading north out of Madras, with the area of
light-colored barren “fill” on the uphill side; “Depot Hill” itself, as seen
from below; the monumental overpass in the foreground, somehow
relocated from its real location at the top of the Highway 26 grade over
the railroad tracks—? Maybe Heaney’s “license” led him to reposition
the whole town of Madras from “down in the Basin” to where he thought
it should be, scenically perched on the top of the hill—? (Others, even
Madras natives, have had the same wishful fancy.) Maybe the entire
painting is in fact a pictorial anagram of Madras? What do you think?
Does anybody know of other paintings—realistic, abstract, impressionistic, whatever— of Jefferson County towns and settlements?
(Permission to use Charles Heaney’s “Town of Madras” in this article was generously
given by the Trustees of the Hallie Ford Museum of Art, Salem, Oregon.)
20
• THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY •
Donations to the JCHS Museum Collection and
Archives since October 2014
A
lthough the JCHS Museum collection is currently “in storage,” waiting for
the re-opening of the Museum, the Historical Society continues to welcome
gifts of historically-significant items and archival materials (letters, diaries,
records, photos etc.): it’s been because of the generous giving of such artifacts
of our history, after all, that the Museum Collection has grown over the years
to over 6000 items. Gifts are, because of the JCHS’s non-profit status, taxdeductible.
Gifts to the collection
since October 2014:
• Early 20thc. wedding dress of Julia
Dussault, Madras leader and one of
the founders of the Historical Society
and Museum—given by Sally Perry
and Kathleen Bauska
• Wicker mortician’s “transport” coffin, used in early-day Madras, probably by Ed Mason, first County
Coroner—given by Gail Scott and
Travis and Shawna Williams
• Extensive historical research files of
Beth Crow—from the estate of Beth
Crow
• Gavel, certificates, photos and other
memorabilia from Madras attorney
Boyd Overhulse’s term (1957-9) as
President of the Oregon Senate—
given by Helena Overhulse Bova and
family
• Records, maps, clippings, research
notes etc. on the history of Crooked
River Ranch and its previous existence as the “Gates Ranch”—gift of
Constance Albrecht
• Medical items relating to Dr. Evan
Thomas’s long medical practice in
Madras (doctor’s “house-call bag,”
obstetrical scales, his office sign,
medical license, Medical Board certificate, etc.); also historical files on
Sahalee Park, and rare printed
brochure on the 1910 sale of the
entire sheep holdings of Hay Creek
Ranch—given by Dorothy Michaels
Thomas
• Copies of final application packets
for the inclusion of the Julius
McCoin and Enoch Cyrus homesteads and orchards on the National
Registry of Historic Sites, including
extensive historical research findings--given by Janine McFarland,
USFS/National Grasslands historian/archaeologist
• Framed historic photos of early
Jefferson County people, events, and
scenes—given by Dave Bell and the
estate of John Wood
• Extensive research files on the
“North Hangar” and Madras Army
Air Field in WWII, prepared by
Michele Quinn for the City of
Madras’s application for inclusion of
the North Hangar in the National
Registry of Historic Buildings—City
of Madras (Michele Quinn)
21
O
Memorial Gifts
to the JCHS
ne way to remember and honor a relative or friend
who has passed on—especially someone who has had
an interest in local history—is to make a memorial gift in
that person’s name to the Jefferson County Historical
Society. Often newspaper obituaries will list the JCHS and
other organizations and charities to which well-wishers
are invited to make contributions in honor of their late relative or friend. The JCHS is a non-profit organization, registered with the IRS, and donations and gifts to it are generally tax-deductible. Families of the deceased are always
notified by the Society of contributions made in honor of
their loved ones.
MEMORIAL DONATIONS AND GIFTS
TO THE SOCIETY FROM AUGUST TO
THE END OF 2014:
IN MEMORY OF LELAND SCHAWO
Mary Gleason
IN MEMORY OF NORM WEIGAND
James and Kathleen Jasa
Simons Family
Ann Obendorf
Jarold and Dorothy Ramsey
Bicart Family
Bob and Kaye Eberhard
The Samuel S. Johnson Foundation
Mark and Kathleen Thomas
Robert and Olivia MacRostie
Dolores McCaffery
Marie Harris
Gary Harris
Keith and Jean Gregerson
Green Cattle Company
Two New Books for the
Local History Shelf
Two very different books touching on Jefferson County and Central Oregon history have appeared recently,
and should be noticed here for AGATE readers. (Readers: if you know of other recent books with local interest,
please let us know about them—or better yet, write short reviews of them for THE AGATE!)
James H. and
Theona J.
Hambleton,
I
Wood, Water, and Grass: Meek
Cutoff in 1845. Caldwell: Caxton
Printers Ltd, 2014
n the last issue of THE
AGATE, we reviewed a
beautifully-mounted, wellendowed book by Brooks
Ragen, The Meek Cutoff, on
one of Central Oregon’s most
enduring pioneer episodes,
the late-summer 1845 ordeal
of a loose caravan of almost
200 Oregon Trail wagons
guided by mountain-man
Stephen Meek from Vale
through the rough, dry country of modern-day Malheur,
Harney, Crook, Jefferson,
and Wasco counties to The
Dalles.
Our review praised Ragen’s
book for its ambitious, hitech route-finding and its
spectacular photos (by former Madras resident Ellen
Bishop) and graphics, but
criticized it for arbitrarily
suspending its investigation
of the route of the “Cutoff”
wagon train at Cline Falls
near Redmond where a part
of it supposedly reached the
Deschutes River there –this
meant, in Ragen’s judgment,
that the Meek party was no
longer “lost.” In fact the poor
emigrants had to endure
nearly three additional weeks
of very hard travel through
north central Oregon before
at last reaching the Columbia
River in early October. On the
way, over twenty members of
22
one wagon-group died and
were buried on the trail; others were very sick but came
through. Nevertheless, for
Ragen, they were no longer
lost; and his quick summary
of their passage over this final
segment is both superficial,
and inaccurate—he misidentifies Rimrock Springs south
of Madras (where four people
were buried in unmarked
graves) as Sagebrush Springs
near Gateway (where six
more may have been buried),
misnames the valley of Trout
Creek as “Hay Creek Valley,”
and so on.
Against the limits and
defects of Ragen’s coverage of
the Meek Cutoff story, the
Hambletons’ book—the result
of over twenty years of
research—stands in sharp
and
welcome
contrast.
Supplementing their exhaustive on-the-ground work with
scrupulous use of the journals
and diaries kept by members
of the Meek party, and bringing nineteenth-century surveys to bear on their routetracing, they offer a complete
itinerary of the Cutoff that is
both plausible, and radical.
“Radical” because they basically re-write the orthodox
version of what happened in
1845, as presented (for example) in Ragen’s book.
The Hambletons argue that
the illnesses and deaths
afflicting the Samuel Parker
train in their last weeks were
caused not by cholera or
typhus, but by cooking with
poisonous alkali salts collected en route and used as a
replacement for “saleratus,”
or baking soda. In their view,
the main Cutoff route did not
strike the Deschutes River
either at Bend or Cline Falls;
instead, the wagons ultimately came to and crossed the
river just above Sherar’s
Bridge. As for the widely-held
view that, because of Stephen
• THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY •
Meek’s incompetence and
shiftlessness as “wagon-master,” the various wagon
groups split apart and wandered their separate ways
until finally coming together
at Rimrock Springs, the
authors argue forcefully that,
in fact, Meek knew his route
and was a capable guide for
those who chose to follow
him, like Capt. Solomon
Tetherow (later one of the
first settlers in Central
Oregon), and that, in fact, the
different trains did not split
apart for more than a day or
two throughout the entire
trek from Vale to The Dalles.
Space does not permit
examining these conclusions
here, but they do seem to be
well-founded, often on the
basis of new evidence—and it
is safe to predict that the
Hambletons will in their
modest way stir up many
Oregon
historians
who
thought they knew the story
of Stephen Meek and his
notorious 1845 Cutoff!
of, but rarely conveys when it
is written down.
A photographer and storyteller who ranches with his
wife Ann outside of Ashwood,
Bingham has a gifted ear and
a sympathetic feeling for the
stories that rural Central
Oregonians tell on each
other, and on themselves,
typically in generic “Dusty
Dog Cafes” in Antelope,
Fossil, Maupin, Culver, Moro,
Madras (but no longer, alas,
in “The Stag” and the
“Shangri-la”). Many of these
stories involve funny and/or
scary interspecies set-tos
between ranch-folks and
cows, horses, dogs, goats,
pigs, packrats, buzzards, and
so on. Others lovingly but
unsentimentally evoke the
hard and unforgiving life of
ranching in our neck of the
woods—and also the unexpected rewards of it, notably
the kindness and support of
country neighbors when trouble comes.
In one episode, the writer
D. “Bing” Bingham,
Shaped By the Land: Stories of the
Rural American West As Told in the
Dusty Dog Cafe. McMinnville: Sage
Meadows Press, 2014.
T
he anecdotes and yarns in
Bing Bingham’s delightful new collection are not
“historical,” exactly (although
they are all based on firsthand tellings by real people),
but they vividly convey the
dust and grit and goodhumored edge on experience
that local history comes out
23
and his trusted farm dog
touchingly work out between
them her growing old and
infirm; in another, he follows
his doctor’s remedy for stress
by lying out in the grass and
“looking up at the sky and the
trees”—only to find that three
buzzards have spotted him
and are circling expectantly
overhead! There is abundant
“local color” here, in many
hues, and there is also a lot of
hard-nosed wisdom. A recommendation for writers of
local history: read this book—
and try to spend time listening at your local Dusty Dog
Café!
Jefferson County
Historical Society
Box 647
Madras, Oregon 97741
541-475-5390
Website: www.jeffcohistorical.org
Box 647, Madras, Oregon 97741
THE AGATE • THE JEFFERSON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY
PLEASE JOIN US!
Jefferson County Historical Society
Box 647, Madras, Oregon 97741
541-475-5390 • Website: www.jeffcohistorical.org
(Individual: $25
MEMBERSHIP DUES 2015:
Family: $50 Patron: $150 Benefactor: $500)
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